


Snowblind

by calic0kitt3n (calico_kitten), yalpal



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adult Hermione Granger, Eventual Fluff, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Happy Ending, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Illustrations, Injury Recovery, Light Angst, Not Epilogue Compliant, Page 394 Discord's Winter Holidays Celebration, Portkeys, Severus Snape Lives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2021-01-14
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:54:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28284300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/calico_kitten/pseuds/calic0kitt3n, https://archiveofourown.org/users/yalpal/pseuds/yalpal
Summary: When an injured Hermione takes the Portkey that was supposed to take her directly to the Ministry of Magic, she finds herself deposited on a snowbank in a forest instead. Thankfully there is a cabin not far away. But its sole occupant is someone she thought she would never see again. Will he hex her for disturbing his peace or has the surly Severus Snape mellowed since the war?A 3-part story with an epilogue. Art byyalpal.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Severus Snape
Comments: 71
Kudos: 336
Collections: Page 394 Discord Winter Holidays Celebration





	1. A Weekend of Mishaps

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [00_Page_394_Winter_Holidays_Collection](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/00_Page_394_Winter_Holidays_Collection) collection. 



> **Prompt:** Snow (in any form: snowflakes, snowfall, blizzard, etc)
> 
> A special thanks to **[yalpal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yalpal)** for the adorable drawings!!
> 
> Typical disclaimer: this is a work based on characters created by J.K. Rowling written just for the fun of it. All mistakes and mayhem are my own.

The world was wrapped in white. Or rather, it seemed that way for a moment when Hermione Granger’s towel slipped from her head as she stumbled over an errant shoe and cursed. This would be the last time she would room with Tracey Davis at a girl’s weekend. The girl was a total slob.

At twenty-two Hermione was supposed to have finished a Mastery, worked her way to assistant department head and also gotten married or at least engaged. At twenty-five she was to have had her first child and and at twenty-seven become Department Head. The fact was, Hermione was now twenty-eight, never finished her Charms Mastery, and had long ago quit working at the Ministry. She was also still single and wasn’t terribly sure she even wanted children. What she did have was a degree in law and worked at a very successful firm with the Greengrass sisters, Tracey Davis, and Pansy Parkinson, and was known for giving wizards a run for their Galleons in court.

And _that_ was how she found herself at a girl’s weekend, celebrating Pansy’s birthday at a swanky resort in the French Riviera and getting rushed to the on-premises _médecin magique_ as her ankle began to swell.

“Mais non!” she argued with the Healer. “C’est rien du tout.” [But no, it’s nothing.]

“Hermione, please just listen to the witch,” urged Astoria. “Just agree and we’ll get out of here sooner.”

“But she’s not right. She can’t be! I have a huge case next week and —“

Astoria shushed her and told the Healer to do whatever was necessary.

A few scans and a pair of crutches later (along with a special cushioning cast on her foot and ankle), the pair of them were soon escorted from the clinic and taking a taxi back to the hotel. Hermione was instructed not to Apparate for at least two weeks for fear of her causing new injury to her sprained ankle, presently encompassed by an air cast, and was to stay off her ankle entirely for the next week. She couldn’t think of a worse punishment. There her friends were, going swimming and water skiing, and she had to sit about like a potato, baking on the sand. It was a good thing she’d brought her books. The weekend was decidedly less exciting than she’d hoped and soon they were repacking their suitcases to return to England. Hermione refused to let anyone Portkey back with her, as it was going to deposit her directly at the Ministry and she could easily get a way home from there. When the spinning stopped, however, she was most certainly not at the Ministry. She wasn’t even in England.

Hermione came to a crashing thud on a snowbank, crutches tumbling from her grasp and overnight bag sliding down the short hill, ploughing a path in its wake like an errant toboggan. 

* * *

Severus Snape had fled Britain after the war, not because it was required of him, but because he wanted to live somewhere where there weren’t any reminders of the first forty years of his life. He found out through a contact that an old wizard was selling his small house that was tucked in the depths of the Black Forest and Severus saw his opportunity. He promptly bought it, sold the house in Cokeworth, packed his books and potions lab, shrinking it all into his trunk, and set off for the mainland. There was a bit of remodeling to do, as there always was when acquiring a house, but overall it was perfect. It was remote, no one knew who he was, and he spoke enough German to get by when he had to go do the shopping. What he liked best was that, because almost no one knew how to find him, he could live in peace. He still got the Prophet forwarded to him once a week in a bundle, held onto a few old friendships (namely Lucius and Minerva), and tinkered about improving various potions in the thought of perhaps one day earning himself a bit of extra gold, not that he would need it anytime soon.

This particular day he woke to find his windows covered in thick frost. There was a fresh blanket of snow on the ground on top of what had fallen the morning before and he could only hope that there wasn’t a surprise layer of ice between the two. He got a warm fire going in the hearth before heading outside to tend to a few of his plants that thrived in the frigid winter and perhaps split a few more logs for the next day. By the time he came back in, he was grateful to shuck the thick, heavy cloak and winter boots and go do a bit of light reading by the fire. He closed his eyes for a moment and reflected on how different the past several years had been, how serene. It was the first time in his life that he had known what peaceful living was. Now and then it was a bit lonely, but he had long ago sworn off building any sort of relationship other than some very loose friendship with a few of the shop clerks in the village he did his shopping in. He didn’t envy Minerva or Lucius their still overly people-filled lives one measly bit.

* * *

Hermione lay on her back in her thin jacket and denims, the wet snow soaking her as she stared dazedly at the grey sky. She really _should_ have taken someone with her. But now it was too late and she had no idea where she might be. She sat up at last, head throbbing, to survey her surroundings. A pine forest stretched in all directions while mountains rose in the distance. She wondered why a Portkey would lead here of all places. Wherever _here_ was. She rolled gingerly onto her knees and reached for her crutches. After the grueling task of getting to her feet, er, foot, she cast a forlorn glance at her suitcase before remembering that she was, in fact, a powerful witch and that there was no one around to witness a bit of magic. She cast warming and drying charms over herself and Accioed her bag, slinging it over her shoulder. She was rather sure she saw smoke rising from over the trees not too far away. And smoke meant a chimney. And a chimney meant a someone. She slowly crunched through the snow, occasionally slipping before she thought to cast a non-slip charm on the bottoms of her crutches and shoes.

By the time she knocked on the door to the wooden cabin (how trite, she mused), she already had a speech prepared. The door swung open and she launched directly into her apology, but the moment she realised who was at the door, the words died on her lips mid-sentence and she stood there gaping like a fish.

Severus Snape was wearing a charcoal jumper over a white oxford, black trousers and thick woolen slippers. His hair was longer than it had been when she’d seen him last - apparently NOT dying on the floor - but the lines of displeasure on his face were just the same as always.

“Miss Granger,” he drawled, “you can go cut more firewood for all the heat you’re wasting or you can come inside.” 

Of all the company he could have expected, Granger would be near the bottom. But he could hardly in good conscience turn her away. She obviously was in some sort of trouble or she wouldn’t have turned up on his doorstep. Perhaps he was growing soft in his old age. Or he just didn’t want her spreading stories about him.

Without hesitation, she step-hopped into the cabin. The hearth was ablaze, flooding the area with heat and light. He watched as her eyes swept around the room, sizing it up. 

The space was comfortably furnished, though without personal effects. _Detached_ , she noted silently as she began a list about this iteration of Severus Snape. She liked lists. They had never once let her down.

“Sit.” He pointed at an armchair next to the fireplace as he pulled up another. She dried her clothing with a quick wave of her wand before hobbling to the chair, which she gratefully sunk into. She attempted discreet glances in his direction, but he addressed her directly once more.

“Yes, go ahead and stare. I can hear your mind from here. ‘He’s supposed to be dead. Why didn’t I know? How is this possible?’ Well, I can assure you that I am not dead, but neither do I owe you any explanation what. So. Ever.”

Hermione thought carefully before speaking as she reminded herself that he was indeed the one and only Severus Snape: Potions Master, Spy, and most sharp-tongued wizard she’d ever met. The only real surprise was that he didn’t leave her to freeze in the cold.

“Why did you invite me in then?”

“And have it traced back to me that I left Hermione Granger, war heroine and advocate extraordinaire, die in the snow when she obviously wasn’t dressed for the weather? I think not.”

_Pragmatic_ , she silently added to the list. _Defencive._ And he knew about her career? 

“You’re right, I was in the south of France, but my Portkey brought me here instead of England. Why do you suppose that is? And where is ‘here’ anyway?”

“It’s none of your business. You might bring more people next time. As to why your Portkey brought you here… that is a curious thing, is it not? Do you think I have visitors regular enough to have an established Portkey?”

“Of course not!” she retorted, a bit more forcefully than she’d meant.

The wizard sneered.

“Then I would _suggest_ that some meddler intervened. The list of people who know where I live is, however, decidedly slim. Tell me, Miss Granger, did you have anything you needed to return to England for?”

“Well, I have a big case that begins on Monday and–“

“Don’t bore me with the details,” he drawled. “I think you’ve solved your little mystery.”

“Fine, but… how am I to get back? The Healer said I’m not to Apparate for the next two weeks.”

Snape rolled his eyes.

“Why the hell did you have to injure yourself like that?”

“It was Tracey’s shoe. It’s hardly my fault!”

“And now it’s left to me to suffer the consequences. How predictable.”

“Excuse me, Professor, but–“

He cut her off. “I am most certainly _not_ your professor any longer. You may address me as Mr. Snape.”

She rolled her eyes but continued. “Well, Mister Snape,” she fairly spat, “your martyr complex, while attractive to some, is most definitely not one of your finer qualities in my opinion. And furthermore, I didn’t ask to come here, I had no desire to see you, and my life was going just fine without knowing you were off living in some Merlin-forsaken cabin in the middle of a fucking forest!” 

She had gotten more worked up as she spoke and decided she was done pussy-footing about the man. If he wanted to be an utter and total arse, she’d give it right back, pound for pound, consequences be damned.

“Do you think I’d rather be here, with you of all people, when I could be back at my flat preparing for tomorrow morning? Do you think I’m here on a lark? It’s a major fuckup is what it is. And I’m about to get to the bottom of it and I most assure you whoever was responsible for this will regret it for the rest of their lives!” 

Her curls fairly crackled with frustration and anger and her eyes flashed dangerously. But the wizard before her remained impassive, unreadable, taking her in like she was no more than an insect to be observed. He was, in fact, calculating his own acerbic reply. Mercifully, it seemed that she was equally unenthused to be a sudden guest in his house, which meant she’d leave as soon as possible.

“Able to control your emotions as always, I see,” he remarked.

“Well excuse me Mister Perfect Git for actually _having_ emotions.”

His eyes narrowed and his voice took on a steely edge that she had largely forgotten.

“Just because I do not brandish them about like a small child, doesn’t mean I don’t have any.”

Hermione’s cheeks darkened at the accusation. “You’re correct, _Mister Snape_. You certainly do well at showing your disdain.”

“Perhaps you’d like to go back into the snow? I can levitate you to save time.”

There was a brief pause while the two of them appraised the other, punctuated only by a brief snap as a log succumbed to the glowing fire.

“I don’t suppose you’d have an extra Portkey lying about?” she asked feebly.

Snape snorted, but one corner of his mouth drew upward into the barest hint of a smile.

“Not likely.”

“Right, so… I, um, I’m terribly sorry to be imposing on you like this.”

“Yes, pity, isn’t it?”

Hermione blinked, confusion apparent on her face. “I beg your pardon?”

“The first company I’ve had in ages and it happens to be you. On crutches.”

“Well, I hardly–”

He waved his hand, disinterested in whatever argument she was about to launch into, and cut her off. “Yes, I’m sure I’ll manage. I always do.”

She rolled her eyes again. “Right. Of course,” she remarked with a huff.

Snape pursed his lips. It was easier when he could threaten the likes of her with detention or, better yet, expulsion.

“You can stay,” he found himself saying, “but only if you swear an oath to not divulge my secret. I rather liked being _alone_.”

Her mouth opened in surprise, but no sound came out.

“Hold out your wand, girl.”

She tentatively pulled out her wand.

“Repeat after me. ‘I swear to never divulge Severus Snape’s whereabouts.’”

“I swear to never divulge Severus Snape’s whereabouts.”

“So mote it be,” he concluded. She felt a strange tightness in her very being as the oath was concluded.

Hermione found herself in a state of shock, only to be further confused by his next question.

“Have you had breakfast?” 

He’d managed to sound only slightly put out for even having to ask. Her brows furrowed as she tried to think back to only an hour ago. _Had_ she had breakfast? 

“I had a bit of toast, but I could do with tea. If you’re offering.” 

Snape grunted but soon presented her with a steaming mug with a splash of milk.

She visibly relaxed as she inhaled the steam before taking a slow sip. An uneasy silence settled between them and Hermione tried not to overly fidget though he was busy staring at the fire as he finished his own cup.

“Is there a way for me to contact Pansy to let her know that I’ve been… delayed?”

“I suppose. When you’re done with the tea, you’ll find what you need on the desk.” He waved toward a space behind her.

“Thank you,” she offered.

The man shrugged in reply, still refusing to look at her.

Several minutes later, as she rose to go write her missive, she took the occasion to look about once more as she hobbled to the desk, crutches gripped tightly in hand so as to not accidentally bear down on her injured ankle. There was something resembling a cuckoo clock on the wall, but it perched there in silence with no indication that it actually worked. Further away was a heavy bookcase that stretched to the ceiling that she was suddenly itching to investigate. There were 2 doors along one of the walls, a small but semi-modern kitchenette, a small table with chairs, the desk with a cushioned stool, and the two armchairs by the fire. Overall, the cabin was minimally furnished and, aside from what she’d perhaps find on the bookshelf, gave little clue to the identity of its sole inhabitant.

The desk was tidy, everything in its place. It took her back to the few times that she had been in his office at school, all jars in rows, much like his storeroom. _Organised,_ she added once more to the list as she pulled a small piece of parchment and quill from their respective places.

‘Pansy,’ she leant down to write, ‘Problem with the Portkey, not sure when I’ll get back. Have Daph cover for tomorrow (notes are in a green folder on my desk) and if I’m somehow not back by Friday, I’ll owl again. - Hermione’

He watched as she wrote, knowing full well she had no idea he was just behind her - she was far too relaxed. It was strange seeing that handwriting appearing all over again. He’d seen far too much of it in the past, but this time it was different. Perhaps because instead of a forty inch essay on the use of bubotuber pus, it was an actual note to someone. When was the last time he felt the need to write a note to anyone? It had been at least since Christmas when he sent his annual holiday greetings to Minerva and Lucius.

She picked it up the note and turned around slowly, wondering if she shouldn’t have said more when she was brought out of her reverie by a sudden realization that Snape had been standing just behind her. When had he gotten up from his chair? _Stealthy_ , she noted, a bit unnerved as she bumped backwards into the desk to create a bit of distance between them.

“Finished?” he drawled, looking down at her surprised eyes. He felt pleased. It wasn’t the first time he’d towered over her like that, but this time she seemed simply nervous rather than outright afraid. Interesting. He catalogued the idea to ponder later.

“Yes,” was her timid response.

He snatched the paper from her fingers and stalked to the door, pausing only to throw back on his cloak and boots. An icy blast greeted them both as he opened it, leaving her feeling a bit guilty as he was being exceedingly hospitable, considering.

He grumbled to himself as he trudged to the small outbuilding behind his house where his owl roosted. The snow had picked up and he knew the area was expecting some heavy winds to go with it. Hopefully the bird could get out of the mountains before it got worse. When he got back around to the front door, he was still without a plan of how to remedy his current problem. He spied said problem looking out of one of the front windows.

Hermione had hoped he hadn’t had far to go and hobbled over to look out the window, hoping to see where he kept his owl, but to no avail. When he came back in several minutes later, his hair had been blown about and glistened with melting snowflakes. He seemed… almost normal. Cold and windswept rather than frightening. She licked her lips nervously.

“Thank you,” she squeaked out. 

“You could hardly go out in that.” He response was devoid of emotion as he slipped off his snowy boots and cloak and spelled his trouser legs dry. 

“Right.”

“You should be sitting.” He was glaring at her now as he toed on his slippers.

Hermione gave him a look, pouring all of her frustration into it as though it would actually make a difference in his demeanor.

“If you injure it more, it could effect you for years instead of weeks.”

“So I’m just supposed to sit about like a flobberworm until it’s better then?” Her voice rose higher as she spoke.

His nostrils flared. “You made the analogy, not I.”

“That was hardly an invitation for personal commentary on my appearance,” she retorted, bristling.

“For Morgana’s sake, sit down and stop trying to make a damned scene!” he growled.

She startled and the crutch under one of her arms slipped, falling to the wooden floor with a clatter. She pressed herself against the other to keep herself upright. For a moment they stood as still as statues, each regarding the other. She knew instinctively that if she went to pick up the crutch, he’d bark at her about her ankle. If she asked him to help, he’d make a snide remark. To her surprise, he began moving toward her. Her eyes widened as he drew nearer, afraid to look away, preferring to somehow anticipate whatever it was he was going to do. What did happen, however, was nowhere near any of her predictions.

When he reflected about it later, he realised that had simply reacted. He stepped over the crutch on the floor, scooped her up as though she were a small child, knocking the other crutch to the floor, and carried her back over to the chair by the fire. She clutched a fistful of his jumper in a panic, but he returned her to the chair by the fire and fetched her crutches, leaning them once more against her chair before sinking into his own. He considered what to say to her, not wanting to get into a silly girl’s argument nor comment on how awkward that just was.

“How did you do it?” he drawled at last.

She flushed with embarrassment. “I tripped over Tracey Davis’s shoe.” She fully expected to be called a klutz.

“She always was rather careless.”

Hermione looked at him in surprise.

“Would it be more polite to lie?” he questioned.

“No, I suppose not. She acknowledges her lack of organizational skills.”

“Is that what it’s called these days?”

“If we’re being polite,” she smirked.

“We’ve already established that I don’t need to be. And unless you tell her, she will be spared my opinion of her. Anyway, what did the healer say?”

“No bearing weight on my ankle for at least a week and no Apparating for at least two. They think I’ll somehow twist it again if I’m not careful.”

“It’s true. Sprains can be particularly nasty.” He calculated that having her there for a week or more was bound to be a disaster and instead made a suggestion that would both please her and get her out of his hair as quickly as possible. “I can, however, perhaps help speed things along.”

“You can?” she chirped excitedly. She immediately closed her mouth and regretted the overly emotional outburst.

“Yes, perhaps,” he slowly replied, as though weighing his words. He was correct in guessing her reaction. “There is a potion I know how to brew that helps repair joint injuries.”

“But?”

“I don’t have all the ingredients. It could take a few days, depending.”

“Well… it’s better than nothing, right?” She tried to sound hopeful. “After all, you’ll get rid of me sooner.”

“That is the point, of course.”

Disappointment flashed across her face for only a brief moment and he would have missed it if he wasn’t so detail-oriented. One more riddle to solve. Puzzle, not Riddle. He was through with those.

“Would you let me help?” The question must have caught him off guard, judging by his look of surprise.

“I’ll consider it.”

For Hermione, that was as good as a yes. The rest of the morning and afternoon were calm and mostly spent by the fire, aside from a simple lunch at the table. She had managed to draw him into a conversation about certain new potions available on the market, several of which had rather dubious claims. As it turned out, he had quite a bit to say about them and Hermione found that she rather enjoyed listening to him make scathing remarks about whatever idiot was making these potions and the gullible dunderheads who were buying them. They talked about the ingredients themselves and it was almost like being in school again, though this time with the criticism aimed at someone other than her. Instead, she was free to listen and learn, un-impinged by fear and self-doubt. What studying under him _should_ have been like, she thought to herself.

Perhaps it had been the war, perhaps it had been her over-eager need to succeed and be praised for it, perhaps it was simply because her best friend was a reminder of all that had went wrong in Snape’s youth, but whatever the reason, he had been the bane of her school years. But now, for all his bluster and snark, he was not at all the same wizard as before and she was grateful. She couldn’t imagine having to spend days cooped up with the Snape of old. They would have been liable to hex each other into oblivion. She’d kept her wand on her just in case, but so far it had been highly unnecessary, aside from directing logs into the fire.

Late in the afternoon, he excused himself to go gather a few ingredients and returned nearly two hours later with a few plants in hand that needed drying out. She had, in the meantime, read part of a book he’d leant her that spoke in length with some of the questionable ingredients they’d been discussing earlier. In some ways it was refreshing to read something other than legal documents. Her career was all-consuming and left her little time to peruse other topics of interest, aside from when it pertained to a current case.

Dinner was spent discussing some of the points raised in the book and Hermione found the conversation pleasantly stimulating. Deep down she was also pleased that they were speaking as equals for a brief period of time and noted that he hadn’t spoken down to her once after they had both come to accept the current predicament. All in all, it seemed extraordinary, but she wasn’t about to curse the moment by bringing up how different it was than all past interactions.

At some point that evening, she’d fallen asleep before the fire. She’d stretched out on a thick rug, needing to be in a position other than sitting with a foot propped up. Snape had watched her nod off as he pondered his day. It hadn’t been anywhere nearly as bad as he’d predicted. It was almost a relief to have someone intelligent to converse with and who actually listened in turn. With these strange thoughts circling in his head, he set up a cot in the corner of the room for her, levitated her into bed, and loosened her air cast so as to not impede circulation. After he pulled a blanket over her and left her to her slumber, he glanced over the drying herbs he’d picked earlier. Tomorrow he would be able to brew after all. Without a doubt, she would ask to help and he already resigned himself to saying yes.

When Hermione awoke, the fire was burning rather low, but she was no longer lying in front of it. She was lying on a bed she hadn’t noticed earlier and covered by a thick quilt. Squinting in the dark, she could make out the outline of the towering bookcase nearby. She pulled her wand from her sleeve and checked the time with a quick Tempus: it was 3am. At some point Snape had put her to bed without waking her. Blearily, she snuggled under the warm quilt and closed her eyes once more, careful to not to shift her injured leg in the process.

He awoke early the next morning, questions buzzing in his head that he hadn’t bothered to attempt answering the day before. They mostly circled around Granger’s strange behaviour exhibited when he’d gotten too close. She wasn’t afraid, but then she was a saucy, fearless thing when she was his student. No, it was something else. His desire to pry into her mind rushed back along with a reminder from his nether regions that he was not as asexual as he pretended in front of others. What others? The shop clerks? Certainly that must be the problem. He’d been alone, quite happily he might add, for some time and suddenly there was a witch under his roof. He dragged himself out of bed and went out to get the fire going again, knowing it would have been down to glowing embers. There she was, sleeping in the corner, completely unaware of the unwanted thoughts she was putting in his mind. As he added in the small branches and watched them catch fire, she made a small noise in her sleep that did not leave him as unaffected as he’d have liked. It was a small mercy that she remained asleep while he continued to rebuild the fire. He most definitely needed a shower before he had to face her. Perhaps a colder one than usual.

Hermione awoke once more, this time to daylight and the familiar smells of breakfast. She turned her head to the side and took in the strange sight. Snape, dressed in his uniform of shades of grey and black, trousers, thick jumper, warm slippers, was cooking something in a pan, sausages from the smell of it, and giving a small pot an occasional stir. It was the smell of coffee, however, that encouraged her to sit up, eyes casting about for her crutches, or at least one of them.

“I expect you’re hungry?” he drawled. He looked utterly relaxed, his hair was secured in a low ponytail. 

She was unaware, but cooking was one of the few pleasures that he’d indulged in since his self-imposed exile as he found that it wasn’t terribly different than brewing. It had been a while since he’d bothered to make a proper breakfast, but company seemed to be a good motivator.

She smiled and stretched before replying. “Breakfast sounds divine. You wouldn’t happen to know–”

“On the floor, next to your bed.” He hadn’t bothered to look, but then, he knew where he had put them the night before.

She looked down and saw both of her crutches.

“Right. Thanks.” How he’d known so quickly what she would ask was slightly disconcerting, but then the only thing truly surprising at the moment was that he was still being civil. Almost kind. She noted that she was still in her clothes from the day before, but he must have loosened the straps to her cast slightly. She retightened them as he spoke again.

“I should be able to brew the potion today if everything is ready,” he announced over the sizzle of the pan.

She pulled herself up with the help of her crutches and made her way across the room, her mouth watering as she drew nearer to the promised repast. She noted that his jumper was adorned with snowflakes, lending him an even more harmless look. _Dangerous_ , she added to her list. Not because of how he looked, but because it felt like a trick to make one forget who he really was. What he was capable of. She tucked those thoughts away to focus on the present.

Once at the table, she apologised for falling asleep on the floor, but he simply waved it off as though uninterested. 

“Eat before it gets cold.”

The two of them tucked into their beans on toast and sausage as the morning sun streamed through the windows. It felt too familiar, too domestic, and neither of them seemed to know how to handle it. 

“The lab is downstairs,” he announced at last. “I’m not sure you’ll be able to manage the steps with your crutches.”

“Why shouldn’t I? I’m not a complete invalid,” she countered.

“Because they’re steep and I’d rather you not break your neck simply out of stubbornness.”

“Perhaps you’d rather I stay away from you lab. Is that it?”

“No. You’re competent enough to not blow it up and intelligent enough not to touch anything unless permitted.”

“May I at least try?” If he had been anyone else, perhaps she would have batted her eyelashes, but it was Snape so she didn’t even bother. Remaining insistent seemed the wiser tack.

He rolled his eyes. “There’s no dissuading you, is there? You haven’t changed in the slightest.”

“I have so,” she replied in almost a pout.

“In what way?” he drawled.

She blinked at him. He wasn’t sneering at her like he did in fourth year when her teeth were growing past her chin. No, there was something else, though she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. It as almost as though he was amused.

“I’m no longer a child and I won’t be treated like one,” she said with an air of confidence.

He looked her over once more. This time he took in everything he saw, noting all the differences between then and now, the ones he’d noticed before anyway. _Had_ he ever really noticed much of anything about her aside from her hand waving and obnoxious need to show off everything she knew? In any case, the girl was most certainly now a grown woman who was now both intelligent and rather, dare he admit, attractive. Sitting at his table. The thoughts he’d had in bed that morning came flooding back unbidden.

“No, you most certainly are not a child.” It slipped from his mouth before he could take it back.

She shifted awkwardly. None of this was going as she’d anticipated. She went back over her list of what she knew about him, but came up short.

“And just what is that supposed to mean?” she asked timidly after several minutes of silence.

“You are a guest here, not my charge, Miss Granger. What else is it supposed to mean?” Deflecting was the only way he was going to get himself out of this one.

“You should… you should call me Hermione. In that case.”

He would rather avoid that. It made things too personal for his taste. 

“I suppose you will be wanting to call me Severus next?” he scoffed.

“I would never presume, sir,” she began, reverting back to old habits.

“Quite. Right,” he smirked. “Though as I reminded you yesterday, I’m no longer your professor. There is no need to address me as ‘sir’.”

“Yes. Of course,” she gulped. She attempted to hide her discomfort by a large swallow of tea, but of course a bit went down the wrong way. Her coughing fit only lasted a minute, but left her face red from exertion and embarrassment. 

“When will we be brewing?” she asked, trying to recover a bit of her pride.

“We could begin in an hour if that suits you.”

It was as though he knew he was systematically destroying every preconceived notion she had of him and thoroughly enjoying it.

“That would be fine,” she replied after another small cough. “Although, I, um, would it be possible to wash up first?”

“Of course. The door on the right. There are extra towels under the sink. I assume you can manage on your own?”

She blushed again. “I most certainly can.”

“Don’t take too long or I’ll assume that you’ve drowned and thus have no need to brew anything.” Her blush did not go unnoticed and he vowed to keep her at arm’s length. Or further, if possible.

Twenty minutes later, after a struggle of getting back out of her denims complete with a few small squeaks of pain when she accidentally moved her ankle, she sank into the deliciously hot bath. Her hair smelled of woodsmoke and sausage and she couldn’t wait to get it out. She reached for her shampoo from the toiletries she’d lined up on a shelf next to the tub and worked it into a nice lather, closing her eyes while she pondered this new side of Severus Snape. He was much more approachable out of his robes and though he had aged a bit and there were strands of grey in his hair, he seemed more youthful in other ways. It was obvious that his new life suited him well. She continued washing up as she wondered what he meant when he looked her over and said she was certainly no longer a child. Surely he wasn’t speaking about her like _that_. She chided herself for her silly thoughts and hurried up with her bath. She was eager to brew as she hadn’t in ages and knew he would simply do it without her if she was late.


	2. Hinting at Impossible Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are starting to heat up in Severus's cabin and it's not just from the fire. A chapter in which they learn to work together, find out that the other person is single, and try very hard to ignore the feelings being stirred up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction and I don't even own these characters. All mistakes are my own.
> 
> Happy Thursday! Hope you enjoy this one. :D

After nearly falling on her head as she attempted to get back out of the tub, she perched on the ledge once more as she slipped on some clean clothing. She’d even managed to pull on a pair of wide leg trousers that left room for her cast underneath. When she emerged from the bathroom, hair towel-dried and pulled back, she felt ready to work. Aside from the fact that she had to navigate everything with crutches.

Snape hadn’t been joking when he had said that the stairs were steep. A trap door was open in the floor near the centre of the living space and he was already downstairs. She steadied herself and requested to hand down her crutches. He appeared and took them from her before standing at the foot of the stairs, silently watching her attempt to descend by scooting down on her bum. She was relieved that he didn’t comment. Unfortunately, her foot slipped when she was only halfway down and she found herself rapidly sliding down some of the remaining stairs until he caught her under the arms. She crashed into him with a small cry as he staggered backwards, her face colliding with his warm chest. His jumper was much softer than she’d imagined and the sudden closeness made her breath hitch. Perhaps he noticed, for he quickly moved her away from himself and handed her the crutches, not even looking at her. 

“Try not to kill yourself next time.” The plan to keep her at arm’s length wasn’t going well. Her hair had tickled his nose and filled it with the warm scent of vanilla when her small frame crushed into his chest. It was disconcerting. And completely uncalled for.

She made a noise of irritation as she accepted her crutches, but quickly skip-hopped over to the table where the various ingredients were laid out along with knives, mortar and pestle, stirring rods, and droppers.

“You’re actually going to allow me to help?”

“I’d rather you not think that I was trying to poison you.”

“I would never think that!”

“Some would.”

“Perhaps you haven’t noticed, Severus, but I’m hardly worried about you murdering me. You’ve had plenty of chances over the years as it was.” _Trust issues_ , she noted. Not that it was a surprise.

His nostrils flared when she spoke his name, but he said nothing about it. “It’s true that by now I could have done a great number of things to you.” Well, _that_ came out all wrong. Again.

She flushed at the very idea.

“But you didn’t.”

“Of course not.” 

“I’ve made my point.”

He changed the subject and began explaining how to prepare the ingredients which she caught onto rather quickly and the two of them worked side-by-side in near silence.

When it came time for the actual brewing, Snape handled the stirring while she added the various items they’d crushed, squeezed, ground, or finely chopped when instructed to do so. The liquid turned from a murky green to brilliant orange with the addition of dried turmeric and crushed scarabs. The heat was lowered as she slowly poured in a compound that was the colour of black currants along with a pinch of fresh rosemary. Snape put it under a stasis charm to simmer for the next several hours and the two of them worked together to clean up the work space.

He insisted on carrying her crutches up while she climbed the stairs (rather literally) with him just a few steps behind. She was thankful to be wearing trousers as she hoisted herself through the opening and scooted to the side to allow him through. He then closed the trap door, recovering it with a thick rug. He watched her struggle for a moment before reaching for her hands and pulling her upright. He looked down at her with an indiscernible expression on his face before helping her hop to a nearby kitchen chair. 

“Thanks.” Only a few days of hopping about and her good leg was tired and her arm muscles aching. She hoped that the potion would work. She decided to lie down on her bed for a bit and at some point nodded off.

In the meantime, Snape busied himself by perusing a potions journal, anything to drive out the image of her round bottom as she’d ascended the stairs. He was beginning to feel like a perverse old man. As he neared the end of a particularly long article on the virtues of insect venom in healing potions, he glanced over and saw that she had fallen asleep. The silly girl had injured herself more than she thought and it was possible that the paste they’d brewed wouldn’t speed things up as much as either of them would prefer. A glance at a clock said there was still an hour to go before he could take the cauldron off the fire to cool. He looked at her again. He still could hardly fathom why she would trust him so. Had she always? She’d said as much, but in truth he’d chalked it up to unreliable memory. 

* * *

When it came time to put on the paste, she was thankful for trouser legs that she could simply push up. He waited for her to pull off the cast before he gingerly placed her ankle across his thigh and pulled her sock halfway off. His fingers were warm and soothing as he spread the paste first on the area most swollen and then worked his way out. She made a small noise and his dark eyes flew to her own.

“Am I hurting you?” he inquired, voice full of concern.

“No,” she admitted. “No, it’s… I think it’s working.”

“Good.” 

He noticed the look in her large toffee-coloured eyes while he did nothing more than put paste on her ankle. It must have been rather effective, he told himself. Which was good. There was hope she would leave. He didn’t think he could handle her at his house for weeks on end. He cleared his throat.

“Right. Let’s sort this so I can go bring in more wood for the fire.” He gently pulled her sock back into place, slid the cast over her foot, and lowered her leg to the floor, leaving her to strap it back into place. He fled as quickly as he could and threw on his cloak and boots, eager to go outside despite the freezing temperature. He needed to get away from her. Fast.

Hermione’s heart was racing. The feel of his calloused fingers massaging her skin, the scent of sandalwood that she first noticed when she’d fallen into him earlier, it was all too much. She didn’t blame him for running away after her bizarre reactions. What bothered her even more was the effect that he was having on her. If anyone had ever predicted her to ever take a fancy to Snape, she would have thought they were as looney as Trelawney (though even she was right on the rare occasion). It was madness. The slamming of the door as he left made her jump. She needed to get a grip on herself.

She should have been at court first thing that morning. By now hopefully the preliminary hearings were ending and official trials dates were being set. She wondered how Daphne had fared and grumbled that she couldn’t even send an owl on her own. Was this mishap truly just a move to get her off the case? Or was something else afoot? She pulled a book off the shelf, settled herself on the bed, and began reading about varieties of fungi.

* * *

Severus stormed out of the house and hurried to the safety of the outbuilding. His owl still hadn’t returned, but he supposed she would be back next morning. He grabbed an axe and began summoning logs one at a time, splitting enough wood to last for the next three days though he only could store a day’s worth inside the house. By the time he’d finished, his head felt clearer and his inner peace was somewhat restored, but he was still unsure of how to handle this bizarre turn of events. Tying a small pile of wood into a bundle with a bit of rope, he levitated it back to the house.

He said nothing as he entered and she didn’t look up from her reading. Deciding that he needed to find out how she even ended up in Bavaria, he gingerly sat at the foot of the bed without warning.

“Whose case were you working on?”

As she felt the end of the bed sink with his weight, his voice drew her out of the pages she’d so desperately sought refuge in. And he was in her space again. Did he not realise how he was messing with her mind?

Without looking up, she replied, “We’re representing Gwendolyn Abbott. She’s pressing charges against Vincent Rosier who she claims made unwanted advances on her person and then promptly fired her when she turned him down.”

“Does she have proof?”

“Several coworkers overheard.”

“And?”

“He’s a known womanizer.”

“He’s also a Rosier.”

At that she sat up straighter and looked at Snape. “And that gives him the right?”

Her gaze was met by those dark, unfathomable eyes. “No. But he likely thinks it does.”

“I look forward to knocking him down a peg or two in court.” She paused. “He doesn’t know where you are, does he?”

“Aside from Lucius and Minerva, I’ve managed to keep my whereabouts secret. Until you showed up.” His eyebrow twitched.

“Well, I’ve vowed not to tell, so you don’t have anything to worry about.”

“Perhaps,” was his enigmatic reply. “How is your ankle?”

She barely turned her leg and could tell that it was still sensitive, though some of the sharper pain seemed to have subsided.

“A bit better. When should I reapply the paste?”

“We’ll do it after dinner. Generally it’s every six to eight hours.”

The thought of his touch made her wish it was already time. She drew her lower lip into her mouth.

In Snape's mind, Hermione’s reaction only drew attention to her mouth, which was surely warm and… oh Circe-sucking-a-lollipop. He needed to change the subject. Do something. “I could begin cooking now if you’re hungry.”

His question filled her with relief. He must have misread her, which was certainly for the best. And she was feeling a bit peckish.

“That would be nice. If you don’t mind.”

“I enjoy cooking. I find it relaxes me.” He had no idea why he’d just said that. He felt a bit idiotic, but he was desperate to find a useful activity to distract himself. Again. It was foolish to have sat on the bed, he knew that now. He was thankful that she wasn’t a Legillimens or she’d have hexed him and sealed him in the basement. Maybe he should do them both a favour and lock himself in the basement.

“That’s… that’s nice. I’ve personally never gotten the knack of it.”

“Something Hermione Granger is not perfect at. I never thought I’d live to see the day.” He rose and turned toward the kitchen.

She smiled slightly at that. “I’ll have you know that I’m far from perfect at a great many things.”

“Highly unlikely,” he murmured as he walked away.

She pretended that she hadn’t heard him properly. It was safer that way. She tried to go back to reading, but he was terribly distracting and she ended up watching him more than absorbing the words on the page before her. It was something about his careful, precise movements, his self-assuredness, his utter calm that drew her in. It was like watching an artist at work. She gave up on the book and put it aside and pulled herself up with her crutches. If she was going to watch the man cook, she might as well own it.

He could feel her eyes on him as he worked, frying up rösti and mushrooms while the pork chops were baking. Ordinarily it would have just been a charcuterie plate with fresh bread and salad in the evening, but he hadn’t made it out to the bakery and quite frankly putting sliced meats and cheeses on a plate and making a small salad simply didn’t take enough time to prepare to restore a proper frame of mind.

“So how did you know what I do for a living?”

“I still get the Prophet.”

“Oh. Right.” Their cases tended to make the news, mostly because not only were they the first all-witch law office, they weren't afraid to take on cases that might upset self-proclaimed upholders of wizarding traditions, which was another way to say ‘elite snobs’.

“Are you still friends with Potter and Weasley?” He’d asked this carefully, partially out of a distaste for all the times he’d had to say their names because they’d done something utterly stupid, but also because he felt curious about any… attachments she might have. He could gather information without any intention of doing anything with it. He was simply being polite, he told himself. Though another voice in his mind called him a liar.

“Yeah, we’re friends. I’m sure you know that Harry went on to become an Auror and is now head of the Department, much to Ginny’s dismay - you now they’re married, right? - and Ron’s playing Quidditch for the Cannons, though he’s talking about early retirement.”

“Oh? And why is that?” he asked, pulling the baking tray from the oven.

“Said he’s thinking of settling down.”

Snape froze for an instant before carefully sitting it down to finish plating their meal. Luckily, she didn’t noticed and continued. 

“Bridgitte has been putting the pressure on for a few years now.”

“Who is she?”

“His fiancée for the last two years. You’re sure you read the Prophet? Their announcement made front page.”

He vaguely remembered reading something about it, but as there was no wedding announcement, he assumed it hadn't worked out. A lot can happen in two years.

“Right, sorry.”

“And what about you? Are you seeing someone?” he asked, as he sat her plate before her. Her eyes, shimmering in the fading sunlight, stared back.

“I’m afraid I’ve been too busy for such frivolities.”

He made a sound of amusement. He suddenly found himself in quite good spirits as he sat down across from her and handed her a knife and fork.

“How about you then?” she queried, her lips curled up ever so slightly. “Got a secret lover hidden away somewhere?”

His sudden laughter in reply completely undid her. She’d never even seen him properly smile, let alone hear him laugh. It was a rich, warm sound and she couldn’t help the toothy grin that she gave in return. It somehow felt like a small victory, though she hadn’t truly set out to make him laugh. 

“Merlin, no, I swore off relationships, much to the dismay of this woman who works at the bakery I frequent.”

Maybe it was the fact that he’d laughed about it. Maybe she was feeling far more comfortable in his presence. But for whatever the reason, she found herself replying, “Perhaps she’d settle for something less, you know.”

Snape nearly choked. He was _not_ expecting that. Not from her. Well then.

“What about you, Hermione? Do you find yourself settling for something… less… on occasion?”

Her cheeks flushed scarlet.

“I– well, not really.”

“ _Not really_ meaning that you have and you just don’t want to admit it?”

“No, I’m generally not inclined.”

The room felt deathly quiet. “Generally does not translate to ‘always’.” He watched her squirm beneath his gaze and found that he rather enjoyed it. “It’s alright, Hermione. You are, after all, human.”

Hermione felt her heart catch in her throat. She wanted to combust or hide, whichever was most expedient. Unfortunately both were difficult to achieve at the moment. Relief came when he looked away a moment later.

“To return to your remark, no, she doesn’t hold any interest for me.”

“And if she did?” she asked quietly.

“Then I would reconsider my…” He paused and his eyebrow twitched as he met her gaze. “…position on the matter.”

He then changed the subject to something far less personal (the changes that had been made at Hogwarts since their departures) and she seemed to regain her composure. But her deep blush continued replaying in the back of his mind, which only encouraged the stirring in his trousers. He wasn’t sure why he had suddenly became so unprofessional, but had a hunch that it had something to do with both her genuine friendliness and said stirrings.

* * *

When Snape emerged from having had a shower, his hair still damp aftera gentle drying charm, Hermione was back in bed, settled with yet another book, this one a small collection of folktales from the Rhine. She found that she particularly enjoyed the one about the lorelei, though her opinion of merpeople (or however they ought to be classified) had been forever coloured by her experience in the lake fourth year. She glanced up when she heard the bathroom door open and had to quickly look away. Casual Snape strolling about in loose pajama bottoms and a cotton shirt with long sleeves was not something she was prepared for. On another day, she might have found it humourous, but at the moment it was to be totally and utterly ignored if she was to avoid embarrassing herself. Which was not to be when he approached, jar of paste in hand. 

“Er, already?” she chirped awkwardly.

“You don’t need it?”

“Well,” she tried to sound resigned, “I suppose I do. I mean, it’s alright if I don’t move, but that hardly solves anything.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

He summoned a chair and pulled it up next to the bed. He wouldn’t repeat his earlier mistake. He had her remove the cast this time as well to avoid touching her unnecessarily. He could tell that something was bothering her.

“Are you certain that it’s not worse?”

“Oh!” She sounded startled. “Oh, no. It’s not. It’s not worse, I mean.”

He would dwell on this other matter later. First, the ankle. It did look better and some of the swelling had gone down. He scooped a small bit of paste and began gently applying it. Her skin was like satin and he found himself thinking through the various compounds that make up different healing pastes to avoid dwelling on what the rest of her leg must feel like. 

It was all she could do to sit perfectly still and seem disaffected by his touch because the combination of the healing balm and his hands were making her most definitely want to acquire a few minor bumps and bruises if it would mean more of this. In fact, she hadn’t wanted to say it earlier, but she was rather sure she had a few bruises from her slip down the stairs. Did she dare? She accidentally let out a sigh of contentment and his eyes suddenly met her own. She immediately looked away, embarrassed.

“I take it that it’s working,” he quipped.

“Yeah. Thanks.” She was struggling to keep an even tone.

And then he remembered her slip on the stairs, how before she crashed into him she probably did earn a few bruises.

“I have bruise paste as well if you need it.” 

A small offer. It was up to her to admit what she would. 

“Well…” she began. “I could do with some if you don’t mind.”

After he was finished with her ankle, he summoned the bruise paste from a nearby shelf and offered it to her.

“Do you…” She summoned all of her courage and gave what she hoped was a doe-eyed look. “Do you think you could put it on? It’s for my back.”

“Get your cast back on then and turn your back to me.”

He collected himself in the minute that it took her to strap her ankle back up and shift herself on the bed. She clearly wanted him to do this. The way she’d looked at him confirmed it, but lucky for him she did not know he’d needed no convincing whatsoever.

She reached behind and lifted the bottom edge of her shirt and jumper.

“You’ll have to,” she added feebly.

He took another steadying breath and hooked a thumb under her the hem of her top, sliding it up several inches and revealing her smooth skin as well as a few small bruises. He attempted the focus on those and not look too much at the slight curve of her waist or think about how warm her skin was beneath his fingertips.

Hermione tried to keep her breathing steady as she bit down on her lip to avoid making any sounds she would regret later. His touch was nothing short of heavenly and it only made her crave more. She wondered if she hadn’t hit her head as well. This was Snape! But then that image of him emerging from the bathroom resurfaced as well as the one of him cooking breakfast that morning and she had to admit that the man who was now healing her bruises was absolutely nothing like the man who seemed to hate her in the past. This Snape was far more relaxed, considerate, and, though still gruff, actually smiled. Disappointment surged through her when he removed his hand.

“Better?” he inquired.

“Thanks,” was all that she managed. After all, better was a relative term. She began to shuffle herself back into a normal position on the bed.

“You don’t sound as certain as usual.”

Her eyes widened in a split second of panic as she fumbled for the right thing to say.

“No, it really is much better,” she replied in a slightly more convincing tone.

“What seems to be troubling you then?” 

He didn’t know why he was pressing the matter other than the fact it seemed to be leading somewhere highly satisfactory as far as his ego was concerned and his instincts were rarely misleading, especially in this case as he was dealing with a known person who wasn’t certifiable, which helped the odds a bit. Perhaps she _was_ certifiable though, he reflected, if he was reading the signs correctly.

“It’s nothing.”

“Mmm. If you say so. Do you need anything before I turn in for the night?”

She could feel the expectancy in his gaze and instantly wished that she knew how to be a bit more, well, Slytherin about things. She was used to being direct and didn’t know how to handle someone who excelled at playing games, at least not outside the courtroom.

“No, I think I’ll manage.”

He nodded and wished her goodnight, making one last stop in the bathroom before closing himself in his room. He laid awake for some time, remembering the feel of her silky skin against his fingertips until he at last fell asleep, dark dreams revolving around his past taunting him.

Hermione's dreams that night were equally troubled, if by troubled one means being seduced by one’s former professor who was, it must be said, far more agreeable than in the past. Dream Hermione knew it was all her fault. She’d deliberately taunted him, showing her knickers while she sat at her desk in detention correcting piles of first years’ essays. It somehow morphed into an order meeting, everyone glaring at him except her. Instead, she wet her lips with her tongue while he was looking her direction. Then there they were, in the Shrieking Shack after graduation, where she was making ungodly moans while she fell apart on his tongue. Her eyes flew open. The house was silent, still mostly dark except for the faint early morning light that was beginning to filter in through the windows. Her knickers were soaked and her fingers were already inside her warm folds. She listened more intently and heard nothing. Assuming he was asleep, she rubbed herself off, panting as quietly as she could in the dark corner.

He wasn’t sure what had woken him. It was earlier than he usually rose these days. And that was when he heard it. It was faint, but his hearing was still excellent. Perhaps it was all the years of living at high alert, listening for anything that might be useful. Perhaps it was all the silence that he was used to, now living on his own. But whatever the reason, he definitely heard a faint wet noise and the slight creak of a bed. He hardly breathed for a moment, listening even more intently. Should he have been listening? Probably not, but his thoughts were already out of control and he would do anything to shut out the latest nightmares. He could hear heavy breathing and then a small noise that went straight to his groin. _Oh fuck_.

His hand slid down to his cock without so much as pausing to wonder if this was a good idea. He cast a wandless Muffliato as he began stroking, the faint whimpers from the next room taking him places that his mind hadn’t overly indulged in in quite some time. He came not long after her, from the sound of things. He heard her hobbling to the bathroom and he dropped the silencing charm, once more pretending to be asleep. How was he even going to face her that day?

It seemed that he was the one made of sterner stuff, because he found that she avoided meeting his eyes as much as possible, even when it was time to put more paste on her ankle. Could it possibly mean…? No, that’s absurd. They were finishing their lunch when he decided to corner her.

“Did I do something wrong?”

Hermione choked on her noodles and quickly took a drink to wash them down.

“Uh, no. No. Sorry, I’m just not feeling the best today.”

“Do you need something from my medicine cupboard? Or something else that I can brew?”

Her cheeks grew pink.

“No, I think it will pass on its own.”

A small idea that had begun forming in his mind that morning was growing more difficult to overlook. It wouldn’t hurt to do a bit more probing.

“Is it that time for you?”

The pink in her cheeks darkened.

“Uh, no. That’s not the problem.”

“But you don’t wish to actually do anything about whatever it is?”

“No. I don’t need any help.”

“No, I suppose you don’t.” He gave her a pointed look this time. “You seem to manage just… fine…,” he drawled, letting her make the connection in her own time.

“Of course,” she retorted.

Just then his owl arrived, pecking at the window, message tied to her leg.

“It appears that you have a reply.” He went over to the front door and brought the owl in for a moment, removing the note and giving her a treat. He passed the one to Hermione who tore it open eagerly.

_‘H - hearing went ok, trial set for 30 April. Please get back soon. Daph says she can’t handle this case without you. She was shaking like a leaf after the hearing, but won’t say why. I miss your bossy voice at the office and Tracey says she’s really, really sorry. - P’_

She audibly sighed with relief. 

“The trial will be held the end of April. That gives me 6 more weeks to work on the case. Well, assuming I can leave in the next two days.”

Snape was calculating. Technically she should be able to leave in the next two days. Which meant either he’d be able to get her out of his system soon enough or he had two days to… he didn’t even know why he was suddenly interested in getting in her knickers. She just announced that she couldn’t wait to leave. Why would he do this to himself? Sure, they got along better than anticipated, she was intelligent enough to actually converse with, she was decent at brewing and she was nice to look at. But all that was hardly enough for him to break his own rules of never settling for less than a real commitment. He’d been teasing the previous day about changing his mind if someone actually caught his fancy. Hadn’t he?

“You should be able to leave by then. How is your ankle now that it’s nearly time for another treatment?”

“It feels strong, almost as if I could walk normally again.”

He nodded. 

“We should try later today.”

Her eyes lit up. 

“You really think so?”

“You just told me that you feel like you probably could.”

“Yes, I suppose I did.”

“Then it’s settled. Let’s put more paste on it and you can try just before dinner.”

She nodded, her smile slowly fading as he fetched the jar from the countertop. He pulled her chair out and turned another to face her.

“Foot on my leg then,” he said quietly as he sat down opposite her.

She hoisted her leg up, resting the back of her calf on his knee, and let him remove the air cast. The swelling was completely gone. She watched as he once more carefully massaged the paste into her ankle, his thumbs gliding from her lower shin to the top of her foot. _Such wonderful hands_ , she thought as she chewed her bottom lip. Her dream from the night before drifted into her mind and she closed her eyes for a brief moment.

Severus was currently fighting himself over what he wanted out of this. That was, if he could have anything at all. But when he looked up and saw her face just then, blood rushed to his cock and all noble attempts of ignoring how she was making him feel went out the window.

“Hermione,” he drawled in a low rumble.

Her eyes flew open to see him looking at her much the way he had in her dreams. Good Godric. She was in over her head and she knew it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the kudos and kind comments. They brought a smile to my face. One more chapter and then an epilogue! Until next Thursday, lovelies. xx


	3. It's Now or Never

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione and Severus face their feelings, but will that be enough for something more?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: It's Thursday! I know that for some of you this year is off to a terrible start. For others, maybe things are finally looking up. Wherever you find yourself today, I hope you find a bit of peace. Here's my offering of a bit of distraction.
> 
> Also, I don't own these characters. But you already knew that.

She stared back at him openmouthed until she remembered his comment about gawping like a fish that he’d made when she’d first arrived and quickly snapped her mouth shut.

“Yes?” she asked in a quivering voice.

“I suggest you refrain from making that face in my presence.”

“What face?”

“The one you made when I. did. this.” And he began massaging her ankle again.

Her pulse quickened as she took a sharp intake of breath.

“Why?”

Oh sweet Salazar. She hadn’t meant to ask that. It just fell from her lips as she thought it. 

His eyes bored into hers, the inky depths hinting at everything, but withholding anything exact.

“I’m sure you’d rather not know.” His voice was low and silky and made her core throb uncontrollably.

They sat there staring hungrily at one another, neither of them bold enough to make the first move.

“And if…” She swallowed nervously. “What if I want to know?”

“I’m not sure you’re prepared for what you might hear.”

“I think I might be.”

There was a sudden noise as her crutches crashed to the floor from their place at the table. He looked toward the sound, startled. And when he looked back at her, she saw that the moment was gone. Something had changed in his eyes and he placed her cast back on her ankle before lowering her leg gently to the floor.

Internally, Snape was berating himself for letting himself get carried away. Reason had prevailed, as it always does. He only had to remember that she hadn’t even come there of her own volition and she needed to send another ruddy owl or Parkinson would somehow arrange for something nasty to befall him when she found out.

“You need to send another letter now that Euterpe has had time to rest. You know where to find the parchment.”

And he disappeared into his bedroom, the door closing behind him with a soft click.

Hermione was at a loss. She didn’t know what had just happened, but she felt cheated out of something all the same. The only way to get him to come out of hiding would be to have a letter ready, so a letter she wrote, reassuring Pansy that she would be returning before week’s end.

She hobbled, without crutches, over to the desk, wrote a quick note, and then over to his bedroom door. She knocked softly.

“Yes?” came the voice from within.

“I have a note I’d like you to send to Pansy.”

“Leave it on the table.”

“You said that it had to be sent as soon as possible.”

“I’ll do it when I have the time.”

“No,” she replied sternly. “This needs to go now. You’re right. She’s probably having kittens over this whole thing. Send it before I add a post script stating whom I’ve been staying with.”

The door flew open and he glared down at her. It wasn’t good for her to be so close. But he noticed that she was no longer on crutches.

“You’re able to walk now?”

“A bit.”

“Good.” And he swept past her, grabbed the letter from the table and threw on cloak and boots to go find his owl. Euterpe hooted happily at him as he fastened the message to her leg.

“Yeah, yeah. Getting out a bit more, is that it? Food different there? Well enjoy yourself, this might be the last one for a while.”

She nipped his finger gently and flew off.

When he stumped back in the house, she was still just outside his room, staring into the dark space. He was grateful that he’d left the shutters closed so that she couldn’t see much at all.

“Feeling the need to see my bedroom?” he asked, voice full of snark as he pulled off his boots.

She spun around to face him, clearly embarrassed. As she should be, he thought to himself.

“Did you send it?”

“No, I tore it up and threw the scraps in the snow. Of course I sent it.” 

By now he’d hung his cloak as well and began walking toward her.

“You didn’t answer my question,” he hissed as he drew nearer. 

“I didn’t actually get a good look, if that’s what you’re afraid of. It’s a bit too dark for that.” She’d put a hand on her hip, her jaw set.

“No, you’re far to afraid to actually go in,” he goaded.

“That would be rude.”

“And taking a good long look isn’t?”

“Not when you leave me standing here with the door open.”

“Decency would dictate that you turn away and find something else to occupy yourself with.”

“You must have mistook me for someone else then. I prefer sating my curiousity when the occasion permits.”

“And what is so curious about my room?”

“It’s the only room besides your lab where perhaps there is a hint to the wizard who lives within these walls.”

“I’ve no need for sentimental rubbish.”

“Or is that you never dared to have any in the first place? After all, running away is much safer.”

His eyes narrowed.

“You’ve no idea what you’re accusing me of.”

“Then maybe you should enlighten me.” Her large brown eyes reflected a boldness he hadn’t seen in years.

“Fuck it,” he muttered, and grabbed her, placing his hands on either side of her head and pulling her in for a heated kiss. Her small hands gripped the sides of his jumper before she relaxed and let herself be drawn into a kiss that put all of her previous experiences to shame, even if it didn’t involve tongues. When he pulled back five minutes later, his heart was racing and he wasn’t sure how much longer he could have went on before he wouldn’t have been able to stop himself. She was staring at him wild-eyed and he suddenly felt very afraid of whatever would come next. He took a step backwards.

“Oh no you don’t!” She grabbed him by the front of his jumper, refusing to let him take another step. “We talk about this. Now.”

A look of defeat came over him.

“Though,” she added in a much quieter voice, “we can discuss this sitting down just here,” she nodded toward the table and chairs, “or we can go somewhere more comfortable. Your choice.”

He regarded her carefully. 

“Sitting or lying down,” she clarified.

In that moment, he praised the Fates for Gryffindors, though he would never admit it aloud. He guided her into his room, lighting the candles scattered about various flat surfaces with a bit of wandless magic. Hermione glanced around briefly, but her main focus was on the wizard leading her into his den. A ripple of anticipation made her shiver as he pulled her to a tall mirror and slid behind her. His right hand slipped beneath her chin, forcing her head up. His other glided along her thigh.

“Look at me,” he murmured along her ear.

His hand travelled upward, fingertips brushing the edge of her breast and then back down over her hip.

“Who were you thinking about this morning, Hermione?” he purred.

“I— oh shit.” She hadn’t known he’d heard her, but it was a bit late to suddenly get nervous. 

“Tell me.”

“Y-you,” she stammered. 

“What about me?”

“I h-had a dream. We were…” She paused to sigh as his hand moved up the front of her thigh, just inches away from her aching center. “We were having sex.”

“And was it good?”

He squeezed a breast and nipped the edge of her ear at the same time, making her gasp.

“Mhmm.”

“Well I happened to have enjoyed listening to your delightful noises. In fact, they had quite the effect on me.”

He pressed up against her so that she could feel how much he was enjoying this. The hitch in her breath was reply enough. The hand beneath her chin inched down to her other breast, allowing him to knead them both at once. Her head fell back against his chest with a whimper.

“Yes, just like that. Shall I keep going?”

“Yesss.”

He began with her jumper, pulling it slowly over her head, the shirt underneath along with it, leaving her in a creme-coloured lace bra. He admired her figure in the mirror as his fingers explored her exposed skin, finding it just as silky smooth as he’d imagined. She had several slivery scars across her abdomen and one on her neck that he hadn’t noticed.

“So beautiful,” he whispered, meaning every syllable, scars and all. He’d learned to accept his own over the years as memorial to all the things he’d survived and a reminder of the decisions that made him the man that he was presently. Which couldn’t be all bad considering this brilliant, lovely creature before him was allowing him to unwrap her in spite of their shared history - it was the most exquisite package he’d ever received.

His fingers slid along her waistband and she gave a perceptible nod. He unfastened her baggy trousers and let them fall to the floor on their own. He brought a hand up between her legs and was pleased to feel that her knickers were soaking.

“Nice and wet for me. Good girl.”

Sweet Nimue, the way he said that made her want to simultaneously melt into a pile of goo and be bent over the nearest object and fucked into oblivion. She was instantly frustrated that he was still dressed.

“Let me see you,” she cajoled, reaching back and gripping the sides of his trousers. “All of you.”

Somewhat begrudgingly, he took a few steps back and pulled off his own jumper and shirt before unfastening his trousers and removing those as well. His scars were less visible in the candlelight, though it was clear that he had far more than she did. She studied him intently in the mirror.

“Do I pass inspection?” he drawled.

“I don’t know. I think I’ll have to take a closer look.”

“If you must,” he groused, which made her smile in return.

She turned to face him and brought her hands to his chest, tracing his scars, running her fingers through his smattering of chest hair and up around his neck, feeling the scars there as well.

“You pass,” she reported in her most sultry voice. “Top marks.” And she pulled him into a kiss even more pleasant than the last, possibly because there was bare skin to touch and caress.

He steered them slowly toward the bed as he reached around to unhook her bra and flung it away. Her knickers soon followed. She then hooked her thumbs in his boxer briefs and pulled them slowly down until his erection sprung free, eliciting a sigh of relief from him and a sound of delight from her. 

“Still sure?” he smirked.

“Absolutely,” she murmured against his chest. 

He stepped out of his pants as he walked her backward the remaining few inches to the bed and leaned into her, forcing her to fall back onto the blankets, her feet suddenly off the ground. With both hands he grabbed her just below the knees and folded them nearly to her chest as he stepped between her legs and pressed himself against her, his hard length sliding along her folds.

“Perfect,” he purred. “Isn’t that what you’ve always wanted to hear from me?”

“Yes,” she breathed and wriggled her hips.

“Perfect,” he repeated.

She was about to reply, but the words died in her mouth as he slowly pressed the tip into her, moving ever so gently, letting her adjust as he pushed further and further inside. 

For a moment, she was simply lying there, speared on his cock. The heat of her tight channel as it enveloped him was like nothing else. He was nearly certain that he must have finally died because nothing had never felt quite this good, at least as far as he could remember. 

A groan fell from his lips while she studied his face, having never seen him remotely like this. If she’d thought he was more handsome when laughing earlier, now even that had been surpassed. His eyes momentarily shut and mouth slightly open in a look of pure pleasure made her squeeze her pelvic muscles. The effect was instantaneous. 

His eyes flew open and stared down into her own half-lidded gaze. His mouth curled into a half-smile and he began fucking her with relish, delighting in ever little sound she made. He played with her breasts, experimenting with the fine line between pleasure and pain as she rose to meet him thrust for thrust, squeezing each time he began to pull out. He stared at her mouth. He used to hate it. He dreaded every time it opened all those years ago, but now, now it was undeniably sexy, the curve of her lips, the little noises she was presently making… even when she had challenged him earlier. He had to be honest with himself: he was smitten.

She continued to let her fingertips dance along his chest and stomach until at last he leaned down and captured her lips once more with his own and she wrapped her arms around his neck. She lifted her hips slightly and that was when she felt it: the head of his cock was hitting her just so. A little harder and faster and she’d be there.

“I’m close,” she whispered.

“Cum for me then. Let me feel it. Touch yourself if you need to.”

She began rubbing her clit with her fingers as he now pounded into her, both of them seeking release. A few minutes later she came hard, panting and whimpering his name, which pulled him over the edge with her, thick ropes of cum coating her walls. He leant down once more, kissing her deeply while he slowed his pace, riding out the rest of their mutual pleasure until he slowly slipped out. 

They shifted so they could both lay down on the bed, continuing to lazily touch and kiss in a post-coitus haze until they drifted off to sleep in a tangle of legs and blankets. Hermione woke up about an hour later and her stirring awoke Severus, who peered at her questioningly. 

“I wish I would have waited to send that owl,” she sighed.

“Why is that?”

“You really don’t know?”

“Enlighten me.”

She pulled him into a slow, sensuous kiss that erased any fears that still lurked in the back of his mind.

When she pulled back, she grinned. “ _That’s_ why.”

“I’m afraid I won’t be much help.”

“Why is that?”

“Well, you can’t possibly imagine that I’m interested in you leaving.” His fingers trailed lazily up her thigh as he spoke.

“You could still want to be rid of me.”

“I don’t know, the bed is much warmer this way.”

She rolled her eyes and laughed.

“What do I do?”

“When my owl returns, send another and tell them that you’re exploring a new development and she shouldn’t expect you for the next two weeks.”

“Two weeks?”

“A month.”

“I couldn’t possibly be gone for that long.”

“I gave you my answer. You write what you like.”

“You want me to stay?”

“I would very much like to continue exploring whatever this is and I am not one for rushing through things. Now, until you can send another letter, I suggest we get back to more… pressing… issues?” He pressed the tip of his half-hard cock against her.

“Such as?” she teased.

“Well, we could both do with a bath. I’m sure we can think of other things afterward.”

Severus was content enough with her saucy grin and left the room to draw them a bath.

* * *

When Hermione received a note back from Pansy the following day, she hastily wrote to say that she’d been mistaken and that she’d be back in two to three weeks and to send any work back with the owl. She had to wait several hours to send it while the owl rested and nearly wore a hole in the floor with her pacing. Two days later, she received a box full of paperwork that she slowly tackled, one packet at a time. He helped her work through her ideas and she helped him brew and in between they helped each other with more personal matters. Two of the three weeks were soon over and Hermione finally made up her mind about what she wanted to do next.

“Come with me,” she suggested softly one night.

“I can’t.” His features suddenly hardened, the Severus she had gotten to know hidden away.

“Not even for me?”

“I’m not ready.”

She let the matter drop and the two of them went back to pretending she was going to stay forever. But the day came when her portkey arrived via owl and the next afternoon, while he was out splitting wood, she repacked her bag. Tears pooled at the corners of her eyes and she wiped them away before they fell.

The door blew open and he stalked in, stamping the snow from his boots. His hair was blown about, fresh snow slowly melting where it had landed moments before. It reminded her of the day she’d arrived and her heart clenched at the sight. A glance out the window showed that the snow was coming down much harder than earlier, but a bit of snowfall would hardly prevent a portkey from working. She walked over and poured them both a cup of tea and sat the mugs on a small table near the fire. 

There was a heavy silence between them. He had noticed her bag, though she’d slid it beneath the cot she hadn’t used for weeks. He knew what it meant. He was well aware that her portkey was due to activate soon. But even before the letter came, he had known the day would come. In fact, since their first evening together he’d been collecting moments, capturing images, so that he would never forget. But now that the moment was drawing near, there was a gnawing sensation in the pit of his stomach. 

He had found her invitation to join her in London most shocking and had immediately said no, mostly because he didn’t want to deal with the fallout. Most people thought him dead and rumours of him bewitching their dear Granger would never stop; no one would ever believe that she actually enjoyed being with him. Could he stomach that? In one sense, it would be nothing new. He had been maligned for ages and the only time there was a collective outpouring of goodwill toward him was at the behest of Potter, who thought him dead. But this time the rumours would also involve Hermione, who did nothing to deserve it. Her only fault was somehow becoming attached to him. Even with the weight of his concerns on him, he now found himself not wanting to be overly hasty with a decision that he might regret for decades.

Hermione attempted to make a bit of small talk. He could tell that she was nervous and possibly upset. Her eyes were glassy as she drank her tea and she refused to catch his eye, something she had grown rather bold about lately. 

When he had finished and set down his mug, he beckoned her over to his lap. She sat down her own mug and sat across his legs, her head leaning against his chest. A deep sigh escaped her lips and he wrapped his arms around her, pressing a kiss to her temple.

“What are your plans when you get back?”

“You mean besides clean my flat and get back to work?”

“Mhmm.”

“And send you regular owls to beg you to reconsider?”

Merlin, she really _was_ serious. 

“Would you really?”

“That’s the most stupid question I’ve ever heard you ask.”

He snorted, though his heart clenched all the same.

“And what else?”

“You know Pansy will want to know why I haven’t been back sooner.”

“And what will you say?”

“That I met a charming wizard who I tried very hard to bring back with me, but apparently I can’t succeed at everything.” She made a wry smile.

A low chuckle vibrated through his chest, tickling her cheek.

“It’s hardly your fault he is cantankerous and stubborn.”

“Hmm, it sounds like you know him rather well. Tell me something else about him.”

“He seems to be rethinking your invitation.”

“Oh Severus,” she squeaked, and turned her face to his, pulling him into a kiss that instantly warmed him in a way that no tea or fire ever could. Perhaps it was because it was proceeded by a smile that was only for him. Or that it came with a warm body which sought to reward him for a moment of clarity. Or, perhaps more likely, it was a combination of both of those things coupled with the fact that she was honest about her emotions in a way he never could be and thus he trusted her completely.

It wasn’t long before his fingers had found their way beneath her jumper and he grumbled about the layers that separated them. They shed themprogressively and he took her there, in his favourite chair, next to the blazing fire. She looked magnificent with her thighs surrounding his as she abandoned herself once more. She rode him slowly as she nibbled on his ear and whispered all the reasons why he should return with her. It was a rather Slytherin move of her, he reflected later, even if she hadn’t technically started with clever seduction or any of the usual methods of coercion. 

The feel of his hands as they squeezed her breasts, his hot breath against her skin, the praises that fell from his lips, all of it was more than she had expected that afternoon, even though she had instigated the whole thing. She simply couldn’t get enough of him and even just the hint that maybe, just maybe, he would come with her after all was all that it took to make one more effort of convincing him of everything he’d be missing by staying. Of everything she’d be missing as well. She poured all of herself into the moment, every pleading sigh for a possible future together, every squeeze of her tight channel as she rode him to completion, every kiss, every caress. 

When they finally finished, one after the other, she sagged against him, tired from the unexpected, though welcome, exertion.

“I could get used to that” he murmured.

“You should come with me then,” was her soft reply.

“Don’t you worry about what everyone would say?”

“I’ll just tell them I brought you back as my personal chef,” she smirked.

“I’m being serious.”

“I don’t care what they think, Severus. If I did, I’d have to rethink my entire career.”

He made a noncommittal sound.

“The portkey activates in half an hour,” she announced, glancing at the time. He’d put a working clock in the kitchen at her insistence.

She slowly got to her feet and pulled her clothing back on as he did the same. He hadn’t said no, but he hadn’t said yes either. She worried her lip with her teeth and took another look around the house, sifting through the wonderful memories she’d recently acquired. The first time she’d accidentally felt his touch as well as the first time that they’d kissed. Working together in his lab in the mornings and watching the sunset from the window while the snow glistened on every surface outside. Reading together by the fire and making love wherever they felt like. 

“Sickle for your thoughts?” he murmured.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to pay in galleons,” she replied with a sudden grin.

“A bit expensive, don’t you think?”

“Don’t you think they might be worth it?”

A corner of his mouth tugged upward, a sly smile appearing. 

“Do you accept other forms of payment?”

“Just so long as it isn’t credit.”

He hesitated. She was supposed to leave and soon. He was running out of time to make a decision that he should have made three weeks ago, but he’d only stalled, making excuses to himself. If he were truly honest with how he felt, he’d have already packed his own bags, worries and reservations be damned. And now that it was time…

“I’ll be back in just a few minutes,” he announced, suddenly jumping to his feet and hurrying off to his bedroom, careful to close the door behind him. _Are you the infamous Severus Snape or are you not_ , he chided himself. He’d outlived two masterminds and the hell they’d put him through; surely he could handle public opinion. He popped open his trunk and shrunk everything but the furniture to fit. He hemmed and hawed another moment as he decided what to do about the lab and decided it, too, would have to be packed and in a hurry. He secured the trunk shut, cast a featherweight charm on it, and burst out the door, startling Hermione from the look of things. Without pausing to speak, he threw open the trap door and descended to the lab where he packed a second trunk in a similar manner, carefully making sure all the glassware was enveloped in cushioning charms. He pulled the trunk up the stairs, locked the trap door and summoned his other trunk and a large cage while her large brown eyes stared at him, her lips parted in surprise.

“Come with me,” he ordered as he threw on heavy cloak and boots, leaving trunks and cage in a pile next to the door.

“But it’s…” she began and, shaking her head, transfigured her shoes and thin jacket to something more useful and hustled out the door. She followed his footprints around the back of the house where the small outbuilding sat, door wide open. Severus emerged moments later, his owl perched on his shoulder.

“I’m coming with you,” he said suddenly. He looked worried, as though she might have changed her mind in the past ten minutes.

“You… you…”

“Yes.” He said something softly to Euterpe who hooted and flew toward the house. “I’ve decided that I don’t care what people will say. Just as long as you don’t either.”

Hermione ran at him full tilt and collided with his chest, sending them both into the snow. She grinned down at him.

“Silly man, I haven’t cared in ages.”

Severus smiled broadly and rolled them over.

“You’re certifiable, you know that, right? Absolutely mental.”

“And you’re daft,” she giggled.

“Daft am I?” he challenged and grabbed a bit of snow. “Perhaps I am.” And he promptly stuffed the snow down her jumper and scrambled away while she shrieked. 

He hurried back toward the house and was nearly around the corner when a snowball hit him squarely in the back of the head. He heard her laughter before he turned around. She was standing awkwardly in the snow, head thrown back, the musical sound of her laughter filling his ears. It was true that he was utterly bewitched, but at least he was no longer blind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's the original ending! But when I was editing and rereading I said "that can't end there!" so next week I'll be sharing an epilogue that will tie up some of the loose ends.
> 
> Thanks for reading. I've really appreciated all the love this little tale has gotten. Your kudos and comments have helped my year both end and begin in a lovely way. xx


	4. Epilogue: As It Should Be

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Ministry hurries to save face when Severus Snape returns to Wizarding Britain. But who was responsible for Hermione taking the wrong portkey in the first place and what will she do when she figures it out? A final (and somewhat fluffy) episode for this story!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I don't own these characters
> 
> Hope you enjoy this last bit!

It was true that some of the papers had a field day with the fact that not only was Severus not dead, he was seen with Hermione Granger of all people! Rumours swirled around them, though none of the tabloids seemed to agree. Was it romance? Was it coercion? One went so far as to say that they had rekindled something that had begun while she was a student of his. An apology appeared in the same paper the following day after both Severus and Hermione had threatened to sue for defamation. An official statement from the Ministry was released two weeks after their return to England explaining that of course they knew he wasn’t dead (“A load of bollocks,” Severus quipped upon reading) and that he had disappeared from public life at their own insistence (“What utter rot!”). Hermione had laughed about the whole thing, which dramatically decreased the amount of time he spent worrying about it..

The case against Vincent Rosier was successful and the wizard saw himself slapped with a 500 Galleon fine, plus two months severance pay. It might not have sounded like much, but it was a victory all the same and hopefully would serve as a warning to others.

What remained to be solved, however, was how Hermione ended up at Severus’s in the first place. She had a sneaking suspicion who was behind it, especially now that it was clear that the Rosiers had nothing to do with it, at least not directly. And that was how, while Severus was at the Ministry one day straightening out the rest of his paperwork now that he was officially declared to be “alive” once more, she apparated to the gate of Malfoy Manor unannounced and was promptly shown in by a house elf who introduced herself as Fizzy. Hermione had dressed for the occasion: black jacket and pencil skirt, white oxford with Gryffindor-red pinstripes, black pumps. She suspected that Malfoy was still a pompous git and what better to combat his snobbery than with Muggle business attire — in a style exceedingly feminine at that. If she left him scandalised, all the better.

“Miss Granger,” a familiar haughty voice drawled, “what good fortune brings you to my home on so fine a morning?”

Lucius Malfoy stepped into view wearing an expression that made him appear as if he’d just smelled something unpleasant. He gave her a quick once-over with his eyes, but made no further remark.

Hermione smirked. It was a habit she’d developed since spending so much time with Severus.

“Good morning, Mr. Malfoy. I have something which I wish to discuss with you. It is,” she lowered her voice, “a rather _personal_ matter, if you don’t mind.”

Something about that obviously piqued his interest enough to show her into a parlor and had Fizzy bring them tea.

Lucius was wearing navy and silver dress robes and his silver hair was pulled back at the nape of his neck. He sat opposite her, legs crossed, and managed to pull off lazy elegance in the only way a wizard such as himself could. It was all Hermione could do to not roll her eyes. She rather hoped he was feeling the same about her.

“Thank you, Fizzy.” She accepted the tea proffered by his elf and took a long, slow sip. It was, of course, perfect.

“Now, Mr. Malfoy,” she began, “I believe you owe me some sort of explanation.”

“I haven’t the faintest idea of what you might be referring to, Miss Granger.” 

“Oh, but I think you do,” she insisted, “being that you are one of two people who knew the location of Severus Snape.”

His eyebrow twitched ever so slightly and she knew that she had him.

“And unless you would like for me to do a bit of digging around for any ties that you might still have to the Rosier family…” 

She paused for effect and he squirmed ever so slightly. It took every bit of self-control she had to bite back the smile that was threatening to appear on her face. After all, she didn’t always have the opportunity to out-Slytherin a snake outside the courtroom.

“But whatever you tell me today will be off the record, of course. I’m not here on official business.”

The tension around the wizard’s eyes relaxed.

“Imagine, Miss Granger,” he began as he rested his porcelain cup on a nearby table and rested one finely manicured hand beneath his chin, “that one finds oneself in debt to an old friend. But then this friend passes away and said debt is inherited by their child. A favour is called in and one sees a loophole as it were which will then provide both the opportunity to both fulfill the debt and let another old friend see that he needn’t hide away. Would you not take it?”

“I hardly think that sending me there was a clear message on your behalf. I was rather sure he was going to hex me on sight and leave me in the snow to freeze.”

“Ah, but he didn’t did he? You were never truly in any danger, Miss Granger. You had to have known that.”

“I might have trusted him as my professor, but that was years ago. The look he gave me when he opened the door was far from friendly.”

“Merely surprise,” he stated, waving it off. “I knew from Draco that you were one of the few who truly mourned Severus, so I was not the least bit concerned for his welfare. As for you, he is more prone to be cautious after all, the sort to read minds or use veritaserum before doing any… permanent damage. I was certain you would be seen simply as a problem to be sorted.”

“I still prefer to think that it was fortunate I arrived in an injured state.”

“Oh really? So Severus played Healer and then you bewitched him with your…” he paused, looking her over more slowly this time, his face remaining impassive, “feminine charms, did you?”

Heat infused her cheeks and it wasn’t only from the tea.

“It wasn’t anything like that at all,” she retorted.

“Well you are I are both aware of the sort of witch you’ve grown up to be. Too intimidating for most wizards, I dare say. But as neither of you was likely to attack the other, regardless of motive, I stand by what I said. After all…” he drawled, “it’s not as though there haven’t been some… benefits to your little mishap, from what I’ve gathered.” His eyes twinkled in a way that reminded her, oddly enough, of Dumbledore when he’d managed to pull off something ostentatious.

“He wasn’t exactly pleased to see me turn up at his door.”

“I suspect he’s done far more since then than simply look at you, Miss Granger.”

Her face grew hotter at the insinuation and shifted slightly in her seat, discomfited. His lips curled into a small smile.

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of. If he followed you all the way back to England, I don’t think it was just so that the two of you can start a book club.” 

He winked at her. He had the gall to actually wink. Her nostrils flared with irritation and she decided to reply in the only way that she could. She refused to be the only uncomfortable person in the room.

“Thank you for the suggestion, Mr. Malfoy. Perhaps I’ll suggest it while he and I are in bed tonight. Nothing like a bit of tawdry reading to start out the evening.”

Lucius’s mouth twitched.

“Do you have a book that we can borrow?” she continued.

* * *

Later that evening, after a long afternoon in the office, Hermione returned home and recounted her morning to Severus, the two of them soon roaring with laughter. In spite of her insistence, Lucius had refused to so much as even let her see his much-vaunted library and hurried her on her way as quickly as possible. 

“Maybe he is regretting the fact that Narcissa’s book club reads only classics?” he thought aloud.

“There’s always Ovid,” she snickered.

“True. Perhaps I should suggest it when he and I have a drink next week. Did I tell you he invited me over on Thursday afternoon?”

“No you didn’t! Oh, please do suggest it. And then be sure to tell me all about it,” she giggled.

“So it really was all his doing,” he mused.  “I suppose I ought to send him a thank you card.”

"Brilliant idea."

“ But perhaps… perhaps we can do one better .”

“Oh?”

Severus reached into the pocket of his trousers. A moment later, he pulled out a small wooden box and opened it. Inside, on a pillow of black velvet, a sapphire ring studded with several tiny diamonds sparkled up at her. 

“Hermione, would you marry me?”

Her mouth dropped open in shock, eyes wide. Her heart was racing like a spooked thestral.

“I… I…Yes, Severus, yes,” she squeaked out at last. “Of course I will!"

Letting out a shaky breath that he hadn’t realised he’d been holding, Severus slipped the ring onto her finger and then grasped her hand with his own, pulling her into his arms and pressing his lips to hers.

He’d been rather certain she would say yes, but he had worried himself sick from the moment he’d finished signing the papers at the ministry. He’d went to a jewellery store the week before while out running other errands, but there had been no point in asking for her hand while he was still officially deceased as far the the government was concerned. But now… now she was officially his. He had in mind to snog her senseless, but just then her stomach rumbled loudly, causing them to both laugh.

He pulled away from her to go check the food.

“Just a few more minutes. Promise me you won’t faint of hunger, my starving lioness,” he called out.

She stuck out her tongue playfully when she saw that he was looking.

“I have a better use of your tongue in mind for later,” he remarked with a smirk.

“I have one for yours as well,” she grinned back. 

He quickly cast a stasis charm over the food and stalked towards her, backing her into the nearest wall so he could give her a proper seeing to, hunger pangs be damned. 

* * *

When they finally sat down at the table to eat, they began discussing tentative wedding plans and the fact that some owls would need to be sent the next day and a dinner party planned so that they could break the news personally before the media caught wind of it. After the meal, Hermione summoned a bit of parchment and writing supplies and began making a list of things that would need to be done for the wedding itself, asking Severus questions that he never imagined having to answer. After about an hour of questions regarding such inanities as colours, flowers, and, Merlin help him, the guest list, he suggested that they simply elope, but Hermione, thinking of all the Howlers they would receive if they did, wouldn’t hear of it. Severus did manage to talk her into another snogging session that led to a shared shower, though it was clear that she wasn’t quite ready to let the subject at hand go for the evening. He suggested that she put her thoughts on hold, write the remainder of her lists the next day, and then they could discuss them again properly. After haggling over when the wedding should actually be, she agreed that the rest of the details could wait.

It was getting late by the time they’d finished their shower and brushed their teeth, but Severus decided to go ahead and owl Lucius the good news about their November wedding. They climbed under the warm blankets, chuckling now that they had managed a bit of playful vengeance. Their own owl knew to not disturb them until morning.

Both Hermione and Severus slipped into one another’s arms as their thoughts turned once more to one another. The warmth in his smile made Hermione grateful that she had been manipulated into barging into his life once more. His eyes, once frightening, were now full of hope and adoration, that voice which had once blamed and belittled her was now intentionally seducing her. And his hands… his hands were currently seeking to bring her pleasure in a myriad of ways. Hermione closed her eyes as she considered all of this and felt the gentle weight of the ring on her finger as she pulled him closer and buried her face in his loose hair, inhaling the scent of his shampoo. A calm settled over her with the feeling that everything was exactly as it should be. She’d never been more certain of anything in her life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, thank you for reading! I hope to finish and post another story for the Page 394 Discord's Winter Holiday Celebration before it's over next month. I had a lot of fun with this one, partially because so many of you seemed to enjoy it as well. Take care, lovelies. xx

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Let me know what you think. Art by **[yalpal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yalpal)** added on 26/02.
> 
> You can find me on the Page 394 Discord server along with the other lovely people who are contributing to this collection. 
> 
> Wishing you a safe and happy holiday season wherever you are!


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